Everything you need to know about running and life and any other random crap I find bouncing through my mind like a ping pong ball. And always be sure your shoes are happy.

Archive for the tag “Zombie Attack”

I often see FB posts revealing someone’s Person Type, their Inner Spirit; shining examples of Hope, Love, or Eternal Peace Hippie Girl. I am not necessarily against that, as it was once revealed that I am a rainbow farting unicorn. Other than that one time, though – and this is just my personal opinion, even though I do the little tests – I think these links results are sh*t.

These links are sh*t because they don’t offer the options real people would actually choose if they could.

So I’m going to make a test for you that will actually work. This test will reveal your true self, your true inner spirit, and the real reason you live and breathe, however well or poorly, on this earth.

Get a paper and pencil because I am not going to have a little button at the end of each question which will tally and do a reveal at the bottom of this post. That sh*t costs money and I just bought groceries for dinner, so that’s not in the budget. If you are unable to find a working pencil, a scrap of paper, cannot write the letters A, B, C, D or E, or cannot add, and/or any combination of these, your personal revelation is immediate: You Rock. You have a life and are too busy to screw with having usable writing utensils and stupid pads of paper, you have a phone to do all of that. When the end of society as we know it comes, and we know it will, probably sooner than later – the Demicans and Republicrats tell us so every night on CNBC/FOX/FML – your life will then suck because your phone will be useless. Meanwhile, since I do have paper and a pencil nub, I can write notes on scraps of paper begging for rescue and throw them in rivers in all the pop bottles I keep meaning to recycle, but forget. This will as useless as your phone but slightly more fun.

Today we will determine what type of personality you have. The options will be Zen, OK Most of the Time, What’s It Matter It Will Never Work Anyway, Don’t Push My Buttons, and DANGER, Will Robinson.

1. You arrive at work on Monday morning. There is no coffee in the building.
a. I’d probably spill it, anyway.
b. ooooooooooooohhhhhmmmmm
c. I should be … WTF?? Someone moved my monitor a 1/4 inch, stupid son of a …
d. OK. OK then, hey, it could be worse, right?
e. Seriously? This is the best question you could come up with?

2. Your ideal weekend would include:
a. My local ashram, a church picnic, time petting fluffy bunnies, holding small babies smelling of powder
b. Coffee first. Then, I dunno. More coffee.
c. I’m going to start edging my yard at 4am Saturday since that a$$ next door was blowing leaves at sunrise on Memorial Day.
d. I have plans but I bet it’s gonna rain.
e. Invisibility.

3. If you could choose to be any fantasy animal, you’d be:
a. Godzilla, only I’d be flying one of those human f*cker’s planes. BWAAA HAHAHAHAHA take that you little minions!
b. A fluffy bunny in a sunny field full of pretty flowers
c. I went as Winnie the Pooh on Halloween once, but it rained.
d. Oh, you know, whatever no one else wants to be. It’ll be fine.
e. The one that just got turned into a zombie and is chasing whoever wrote this idiot test.

4. Your Gramma, the Pope, a kitten, and, um, Hitler are in a boat. Who said what:
a. “No, not Hitler, that’s so over done and, really, stereotyping. Must you have a bad guy?”
b. “Oh, yeah?? Who thinks it’s overdone? I can use Hitler if I want, dammit.”
c. “Now, everyone, let’s be nice and cooperate.”
d. “OH! I know! I know! The boat sinks!”
e. “Look, I’m not putting up with this sh*t and this test is stupid.”

5. You decide you need to start meditating. You’ll be a better person for it, don’t you think? Your meditation word is:
a. I think it’s “maybe”
b. I’ve been meditating for at least a minute and this is bull*&^!
c. My spirit word is never to be revealed.
d. I think I have one, it’s around here somewhere, hold tight.
e. My word is STOOPID. Why am I still taking this STUPID test??

7. You’ve been thinking some type of regular exercise would be a good thing. What do you decide to do?
a. I have a personal yogini already
b. Jogging sounds nice, that could work
c. Shooting range
d. I’ll probably get injured, maybe I’ll just stay home.
e. Bludgeoning bloggers.

8. You are lost, alone on a small island in the middle of the sea. What book do you wish you had to read?
a. First Aid
b. The Bible
c. How to build a boat
d. How to swim
e. How to grow coffee and machetes

10. You will recommend this extremely accurate and helpful test to how many of your friends?
a. Are you sh*tting me?
b. I’m not sure. I like my friends.
c. All of them! We’ll all take it TOGETHER! It will be so nice! We’ll Bond in Harmony and Joy!
d. I think I’ll wait and see how I do, first.
e. Are you f*$%’ing sh*tting me?

RESULTS. Give yourself the allotted points for each answer:

Question 1:
a = 3
b = 1
c = 4
d = 2
e = 5

Question 2:
a = 1
b = 2
c = 4
d = 3
e = 10

Question 3:
a = 4
b = 1
c = 3
d = 2
e = 15

Question 4:
a = 1
b = 4
c = 3
d = 2
e = 20

Question 5:
a = 3
b = 4
c = 1
d = 2
e = 25

Question 6:
a = 2
b = 1
c = 4
d = 3
e = 30

Question 7:
a = 1
b = 2
c = 4
d = 3
e = 35

Question 8:
a = 3
b = 1
c = 4
d = 2
e = 40

Question 9:
a = 4
b = 2
c = 3
d = 1
e = 45

Question 10:
a = 4
b = 2
c = 1
d = 3
e = 100

If you scored:
1-10 Points: It doesn’t matter because you’re up in the clouds meditating. This test and all it represents is a false reality. You are: ZEN
11-20 Points: Ah, it’s fine. Whatever, things usually work out, I’m fine with that. You are: OK Most of the Time.
21-30 Points: Seriously, you knew this wasn’t going to work, didn’t you? You almost quit halfway through. You are: What’s it Matter? It Will Never Work Anyway
31-40 Points: You have a lot of buttons. Do you know that? You do. And people push them. All the Damn Time. You are: Don’t Push My Buttons!!!
41-1,000 Points: YOU WIN! YOU WIN! YOU ARE AWESOME!! You see through the falsities of humanity, the treacle, the drudgery, the aimless wandering of the soul.YOU ARE DANGER WILL ROBINSON

Here’s your prize, which you can obtain at this link for $3.73 plus S&H. Buy yourself a coffee cup too, I don’t care. I don’t give a SH*T because I don’t like your attitude.

It’s 3:30am and I’m chugging copious amounts of coffee from my beloved Grumpy Cat cup which questions, Do I look like I rise and shine? which you both know I do not.

This is the coffee cup I should be using:

except it should read, I can’t brain today, I have the Brain.

It’s a beautiful morning. You know, for being 3:30am, dark as a black hole and all that sh*t. I let Murph T. Dog out and it occurs to me that I would not be interested in running around a dark back yard at 3:30 in the morning because evil lurks in back yards with a large shining utility light which is useless and only lights the leaves of the trees below it, never a ray filtering all the way through to light your path where zombies are roaming, occasionally gently knocking accidentally into one another and bouncing off in opposite directions while waiting to eat my brains. Apparently the dog is not so concerned with Zombies. Sometimes I question if he has a brain anyway, especially after he rolls in raccoon shit, so maybe he has a point.

Brains is plural, and they would be welcome to one of my brains. I don’t need both of them and I seldom use either of them.

Brain 2: “OH MY GOD I FELT A TWITCH I FELT A TWITCH IN OUR BUTT. OUR BUTT IS GOING TO FALL OFF AGAIN.”

Terrilee: “I’m gonna kill you both.”

Sigh. I give up. I turn off the alarm which has no need to ring since, once again, I’m up before it has a chance. Alarm is currently undergoing therapy, feeling completely unappreciated in our relationship.

I am hopeful for this run. Last weekend was the one we always aim for – it was a great day, a little rain storm came through about mile 5, we were running through the country side, rolling hills, trees branching and meeting overhead so it was shady and cooler. It was a new course to run, I’ve biked it before but you know it looks different on the ground as opposed to speeding past at the back of pack of bikers, wheezing, peddling until you think both legs will spin off in opposite directions, panicked at every little bump and rock that you will go flying over the handlebars and end up on FB like Killer did that time last summer, lying there unconscious while her hubs looked on worriedly, just one broken bone, little surgery on that, 3-4th degree shoulder separation, hey.

Anyway, I’m hopeful for this run. Last week was awesome – no falling off butt, no pain down the entire back of my leg, no heel pain, no burning metatarsal. Since both brains are wide awake and may be reading this I could possibly have jinxed myself, especially with OCD Brain #2, which will probably start feeling twitches at .2 miles in. I had 20 to do last weekend and again this weekend. Last weekend Brains behaved themselves until mile 18 when they screamed in tandem, “OMG if this were the race we’d have EIGHT MORE MILES WE CAN’T RUN EIGHT MORE MILES TODAY!!” Took a mile to convince myself I didn’t HAVE to do eight more today, I only had to do 2 more. Plus I have an awesome running buddy who will pull me through if I need.

Next week we drop back, not sure what we do, then a 22 miler and then the taper. If my brains are scrambled now just wait until the taper. I begin to understand why Van Gogh sliced off an ear. He may have been trying to listen to only one brain.

I haven’t blogged in over two weeks and I know both of you are in serious withdrawal by now and I want to most sincerely apologize to you both for the pain and anguish you have suffered while I was gone. I thought of you once for a minute but then I forgot.

What happened was I got a call from An Anonymous Person who is Highly Placed in the Government and involved in a Covert Operation which was not going well and Who Desperately Needed My Help. While I am sworn to secrecy about all the details of the past couple weeks, I can give you this hint: Zombies. Area 51. Espionage. End of the World. Comets.

In other words: I went out-of-town for a couple of days, then got to have the B’ster for his first sleepover at Moggie Poppa’s House for two nights after which I collapsed in a quivering heap of exhaustion, providing further support for the anti-75-year-old-women-having-babies-camp, woke the next morning with a cold, followed the next night by an asthma attack which then lead into a week of madcap adventures getting the Women Run/Walk Mfs Coaches Kick-Off Meeting planned and completed, and then stuffing 10 bajillion Road Race Series packets and mailing them because, for me, work right now is like being a tax accountant on April 1st.

Reflections on the past two weeks:

I didn’t run Monday last week, it was my off day. I’m glad they were forecasting rain while I was at my friend’s lake house. That the rain didn’t happen doesn’t matter; since we weren’t sure it if would rain we sat on the deck to wait and see, and drank some coffee. Then we got up, warmed our coffee and went back out on the deck. We repeated this until noon. We ate lunch. Then we sat on the deck and drank iced tea…repeat. At 5pm it was time to switch from tea to a glass of wine. I decided I need to do this kind of day at least once a month. Didn’t even read my book. Just sat and visited and looked at the world.

I didn’t run Tuesday morning as planned because the reluctant rain finally showed up in pouring sheets.

A little boy running toward you yelling MOGGIE with his arms outstretched is awesome.

I didn’t run Wednesday because I had a little guy in my kitchen. I made myself a ham/pepper/onion/cheese/egg white omelet while he had juice and cheerios. I sat down and he looked at my plate. “What’s that?” he pointed. “Eggs, do you want some?” He nodded. I gave him a bite. Big eyes: ‘Eggs are good!” so half my omelet went to his plate. He tried the salsa with them, too, while experimenting with all the little kid forks and spoons I remember my four using.

I didn’t run Thursday because I needed to make EGGS! for the little dude again so he could be fueled and ready for a trip to the zoo. ELEPHANT! ZEBBAH!! MONKEY! TUTLE! LION! LION! LION! TIGER! (the others all looked like lions to him). We ate lunch in the cafeteria with large windows overlooking the Monkey Area. Two monkeys came and sat at the ledge looking at the people in the People Area. They thought the little person was fascinating and enjoyed watching him in his native habitat eating a hot dog.

And, yes: Moggie let him wear his rainboots for two straight days. Mommy can make him wear real shoes. BWAhahahaha.

Friday I woke and realized every cell in my body had been emptied of energy. I tried poking around on FB while drinking copious amounts of coffee but the energy refused to come out of hiding. Sniffing, sneezing and snorting I texted Killer that I needed to bag training. I spent the day sitting at my desk working which was good since I’d gotten nothing done the past four days.

Saturday morning I still felt like crap but did six anyway. It was a pretty morning and I love running through the neighborhood next to ours, they wisely kept as many old growth trees as possible when they began building, it’s beautiful and shady, almost like running in the countryside. Then I worked all day. This time of year is when most of the memberships come due, and we have the Road Race Series and Women Run/Walk Memphis both starting up within a week of each other. For whatever reason both events are trending about 60% increase in registrations over last year, right now. WRWM will cap at 1,500 but we do not have a registration cap on the RRS. Last year we had 1,367 full series registrants so a 50-60% increase in regs could mean a whole lot of people at the starting line, and a whole lot of bibs, chips, packets and data entry for me. I’m just trying to keep my nose to the stone and not get behind.

While I was working Saturday I saw a pic pop up on FB. It was Killer. She was sitting in the middle of the road with her cycling group clustered around her. Broken left thumb, needed surgery to insert a pin, stitches, Stage 2 or 3 AC separation of the right shoulder and whiplash, EMT’s transported her to their site so her hubs could ride 20 miles back to the car and then come get her. They were really nice, they put her bike in the transport too. I visited her Monday night and the poor little thing was pathetic. She’s so tiny anyway that I’m practically looking at the top of her head; her left arm was in huge, thick cast from fingertips to elbow, right arm in a sling for the shoulder separation and couldn’t move her head due to the whiplash. I have no clue how she’s going to eat, her hubs will have to drop food in her mouth like a momma birdie. It made me think having an asthma attack is kind of like a picnic.

Last week I got a new running shirt! Love it! www.onemoremile.com The fabric is great – it feels like brushed cotton but it’s tech fiber. And it didn’t stick to me when I got all sweaty.

Saturday night I had the aforementioned asthma attack; haven’t had a full-blown attack in years so that was frustrating. And, of course, caused me to bag my Sunday run; I spent the day putzing in the house and working, shaking my head at all the crazy nutjob runners in Memphis, our 3,795 club members, the 1,500 hundred ladies who will participate in WRWM, the nearly 2,000 that will end up in the RRS; Memphis – the city tagged #48 in fitness in the 2010 list of the 50 largest cities. Last year we moved up to #47. I guess I need to email them and protest. But first I’m going to have to stop Cat from eating the club’s bumper stickers – be right back.

By the way, it would probably be a lot easier to blog if I didn’t have the cat’s tail whipping back and forth on my mouse and keyboard. Now she’s looking out the window at the birds and appears to be feeling a bit irritated. Perhaps because she can see the birds, squirrels and a large buzzing insect of unknown heritage which is currently slamming itself repeatedly against the window screen, but she cannot reach them. Personally I don’t care how she feels because she’s been demoted to my B list for scaring the HOOEY out of me. The Idiot Cat likes tape. I thought cats hated tape. I thought when it sticks to their paws they would get upset. In fact, I thought you could use tape as a deterrent – put it somewhere you don’t want them to go and they’ll quit when they keep stepping on the stickiness. But, no. She’s enamored. When I open the tape drawer she crawls in and tries to lick the dispenser. The other day I was taping some stuff together with clear packing tape. I cut off the excess and before I could say oh, I don’t know, just any really short words very fast, she’d swallowed it. Or, not. Mostly she was choking. A Lot. I was trying to grab her and figure out how to Heimlich a cat while she was growling at me and hacking all over the kitchen, and I was chasing behind her trying to catch her and squeeze her stomach or anything else I could think of in my panic which I might think was a good thing to try while the dog got excited and started running in circles barking in a desperate attempt to be part of the action. Finally Damn Cat hacked it out in a ball of foamy spit and then I was all grossed out but relieved and I Windexed the counter. Because Windex can fix pretty much anything, as you probably know. Perhaps I should have sprayed it on her. So anyway now Sh*t Head is on my list.

In view of the cold and the asthma I’ve had a good week, running. So good, in fact, that yesterday all the fast girls stayed home and I managed 2nd in my age group at the Incredibly Awesome and Fantastically Well Run Ultimate 10k/5k sponsored by St. Francis and benefiting Youth Villages (shameless plug since one of you two is the RD and I figured I’d better fix this post to properly reflect and give all due credit to a race run by a Fanatic Blog Follower who most likely hid in the bushes, jumping out and tripping all the fast runners in my age group so I could place and be forever indebted).

Ah, crap, gotta go – Dip Sh*t is trying to eat the Hydrangeas in the bathroom. She thinks flowers are a salad bar.

You get lulled into a feeling of safety. Slowly, unnoticed, that constant nagging worry in the back of your mind has receded to a barely audible whisper, a tiny gnat-sized flutter of distant memory.

After a busy week schmoozing at a convention with the hubs and arriving home late last night you sleep in. The sun is eventually so high in the sky that it is glaring into your eyes despite the tightly closed windows, so you get up and shuffle down to the Shrine for a cuppa, taking it easy, playing with the dog and cat, who missed you. Fire up the trusty old Dell, open FB and what has your “friend” posted?? A link to the Miami Herald headline: “Naked man killed by Police near MacArthur Causeway was ‘eating’ face off victim“, which I’ve conveniently hyperlinked for both of you in case you want details. Personally the headline was more than enough for me and I’m glad I didn’t cause permanent damage to my sinus cavities when I choked at the mental visual and snorted really hot coffee. Apparently my “friend”, a term used loosely in light of her recent share, and whom I shall call, ummm….”Elizabeth”, to maintain her anonymity, is deeply concerned the Apocalypse is firing up in Florida, what with Zombie dude running naked on the Causeway, eating people’s faces and everything. I admit, she has some reason to worry.

One reason I believe she may have cause to worry is that another “friend” (I have got to find some new friends) whom I shall call, ummm…”Missy” (it’s hard thinking of fake names, it takes a minute – be patient) then posted information on this book:

which was written by an ethnobotanist – and I have no clue what that is but you can both just look it up yourself because I had enough trouble just trying to spell it write (that one’s for you, Elizabeth-Grammar-Police-Sumner). Apparently this enthno entno whatever went to Haiti in the 80’s and researched TWO DOCUMENTED CASES of zombi (which he spells with no E, oddly).

Just in case you just spit coffee through your nose too, and now your eyes are watering profusely like mine did, blurring most of what you’re reading, I shall repeat myself: DOCUMENTED CASES.

That sounds pretty official to me. Like, before he went down there to investigate the TWO DOCUMENTED CASES, someone had already documented them. This leads me to believe that they found something to put into a document, and not just once, but twice. Myself, I think that if what they put in the document was THESE PEOPLE ARE NUTJOBS then the Harvard scientist with the fancyschmancy botany name would probably not have bothered to travel to Haiti to investigate nutjobs. Because if all he needs are nutjobs, he could come to Memphis for that, “Elizabeth” and “Missy”. I’m just sayin’.

To review (and I’m typing very slowly now, so you can both be sure to comprehend):

1. We have TWO DOCUMENTED CASES of Zombies in Haiti.

2. We now have very suspicious Zombie activity on the MacArthur Causeway in Miami – which is closer to Memphis than Haiti is.

3. Suspicious Zombie activity is thereby moving closer to Memphis.

4. Sometimes I’d prefer to have Sandra Bullock’s face instead of mine, but still and all, I’d prefer my face over a half-eaten one.

5. I really regret overeating and drinking wine all week, and I definitely wish I’d gotten in more than 8 miles in this week, because I think we need to

Sunday morning, it’s beautiful out – and I slept until 7:30 and did not run. So now the world will end, we are all going to die and probably Chunk will chew my toes off in my sleep when she turns into a Zombie Cat.

Actually I do have my suspicions she already has (turned into a Zombie Cat, not that she chewed my toes off, because I can still see them all right now) but that she is currently able to maintain the facade of normalcy for good periods of time.

Along the lines of this digression, after which I will return to our regularly scheduled blogging, I submit for your review and input the picture I managed to get this morning when I accidentally came upon her trying to eat my table. Note the glowing eyes which, the instant I snapped the picture, quit glowing and she looked at me ever so innocently, “Oh, hi.” “Who, me?” “Why, no, not eating the table legs, just um…stretching. Yes, I was stretching.” Below that, the “I’m so innocent” picture. Which is the truth, and which is a lie? Please submit all votes before midnight CST Monday, April 30, 2012. I worry that votes received after that time might be counted by the Zombie(s); I fear I may not have much more than 24-36 hours left. Also, I leave my favorite Smushy Pillow to the hubs who steals it all the time anyway, along with my half of the bed linens which he also always steals. To the children, anything you can find that looks good, take it. Since the fanciest thing we own is one flat screen TV and it’s 19″ and I got it at WalMart for $199.99 plus tax you’ll just have to take your chances on finding anything in the house of great value. I do love you all deeply and somewhere there are some cute baby pics of some of you. Not all of you, I ran out of time. But some. Somewhere. I did truly mean to get them in a photo album at some point in the past 3-1/2 decades. General Hospital was quite good for a number of years, tho, and I got distracted.

Chunk: The Truth or the Lie? V.1

And, Chunk: The Truth or the Lie? V.2

I want both of you to carefully review these photos and let me know which is the truth and which is the dare.

So that’s my story of how I’m worried about Chunker.

In the meantime while I was waiting for these pics to load and then I would get back to our regularly programmed blogging I wanted a snack so I got an orange. A couple of weeks ago while I was out of town the hubs bought some navel oranges at the local unsupermarket (it’s not that great a store, but the salad bar is pretty awesome.) I’ve tried repeatedly this spring to purchase oranges, all of which promised juicy drippy sweetness in the unsupermarket as I squeezed them in a lame attempt to look like I knew what I was doing, trying to ascertain if this was a good orange to purchase. Arriving home, however, my hopes were constantly dashed as one after another was revealed to be dry, pithy and sour. At last I gave up on my search for orange-y vitamin C goodness – until I returned from out of town and found the basket in the kitchen full of yet another load of oranges. Being the innocent believer in goodness that I am, I tried one last time. Peeling the orange revealed a fruit which was deeply, brilliantly orange, a shade of orange making the University of TN football team look pale, dripping with juicy goodness, sweeter than baby kisses. I stood over the sink making involuntary nom nom nom noises while I shoved the orange in my face, juice running off my elbows into the sink below. Hubs arrived home to the wreckage, orange peels everywhere, Murph the Wonder Dog stuck in one spot, his paws unfortunately glued to the floor in dried orange juice, and me in a stupor slavering over the last delectable section of the last orange. “Fwhere didshu get fthese ornjuzz?” I managed to gasp, trying not to look guilty and shoving the last bit of orange behind my back.

“At the store,” he replied, looking vaguely confused. No, that’s a lie, I’m sorry. He looked completely confused. Why was I asking him about oranges the minute he walked in the door? Was it a trap? Was I going to blame him for the juice all over the floor, even though he was pretty sure he knew it had not been there when he left for work? Or was I going to ask him to pry the dog loose, despite the fact that it was obviously my fault Murph T. Dog was stuck and additionally I’m the only one who can find the mop, for, as Rosie O’Donnell pointed out once (when she used to be funny), apparently the uterus is a homing device.

“They’re so good!” I replied. “Where did you get them??”

“At the local unsupermarket in a great big bag for a dollar.”

Oh, sure. He waltzes in, grabs a big a$$ bag of oranges for a buck and they’re great. I stand there sniffing and squeezing each individual orange at about $32 apiece and my oranges suck.

So anyway, that’s the story of my orange that I just ate. It was really good.

I’ll get back to the regularly scheduled blogging in a minute but first I have to tell you what else happened when I was uploading the pics. I need to tell you both that I am very afraid that Zombies have probably managed to annihilate the staff of Yahoo! News. For days now every time I go to open one of my yahoo email accounts all the highlighted news is THE SAME. It hasn’t changed for DAYS. “Kate’s Princess Transformation” “Angelina and Brad are Engaged” “What Men Find Attractive About Women” (uh, duh – if they’re still breathing) and the one that has been catching my eye, “How Often Should You Change Your Sheets?” which then provides this sinister hint: If you’re only washing them once a month, you could have some unwelcome visitors in your bed.

I’m already having a lot of issues with the whole Zombie thing which is EVERYWHERE now – more on that in a minute – and suddenly I learn that if I don’t wash my sheets I could have Unwelcome Visitors In My Bed, and I don’t think they’re talking about the guys they interviewed about finding women attractive, none of whom, I’m sure, had an entire set of their original teeth and probably drive a ’74 greenyellowred pickup truck with a bumper sticker proudly announcing that you should definitely not pass on the driver’s side ‘cuz Ah Chew and Ah Spit. So I am totally washing my sheets. Right. Now. Then I thought, well, I should probably wash the comforter too. I grabbed that fluffy down-filled king-sized sucker, dragged it down two flights of stairs and crammed that baby into the unsuspecting washing machine. Setting it on “Large Load” “Heavy Duty” I fired that little GE baby up and sat down to blog because first, now that I’ve newly committed to not working on the weekends I now have nothing to do, and second I thought you both may have been missing me. I know that you know that I’m there for ya tho – I got your back.

Chunkermunker, however, doesn’t trust me to quite that degree. While waiting for my pics to upload she decided once again to play the innocent and jumped up on my lap. Looking precious and sweet she put her little nose to mine and closed her eyes, her little paw on my shoulder. I can’t do anything with her like that, of course, particularly anything like reach the keyboard and reveal her Zombie Secret to the world but I’m sure that’s not what she was doing. I’m sure she just loves me. Not a whole bunch, but a little bit, I bet. Because at that moment the washing machine went off load with the king-sized comforter full of probably 87 pounds of absorbed water and started trying to walk out of the laundry closet. Which is right next to my office, so the walking thumping pounding washing machine was pretty loud and Chunker looked at me with her eyeballs as big as oranges (really good oranges) and she was under the bed in one half of a nanosecond, leaving me alone to deal with the attacking washer. See how she has my back, how my safety and security are always uppermost in her mind? Murphy would have saved me, I bet, but he was upstairs sound asleep on the newly washed bedding, letting all his little fleas have a picnic in the hills and valleys of the wrinkled sheets.

So that’s my story about that the Yahoo! News staff is probably already Zombies and also what might be in your sheets if you don’t wash them, so don’t blame me if you get eaten tonight by Zombies stuck in your sheets.

In just a minute I’ll get back to the regularly scheduled blogging about getting back in the saddle again, but first you both need to know something else about Zombies. You know the part (above) where I mentioned that the Zombie thing is, like, EVERYWHERE NOW? Wellllll…..I’m pretty sure I maybe be among The Chosen. Maybe you don’t know about The Chosen since I’m sure neither of you are. Chosen, I mean. But when the Zombie Apocalypse comes there will be some of us who are prepared and we will be the ones who have to save the rest of you idiots who act all nice about everything – but I know you don’t really believe me about the Zombies.

This is what happened so that I know I’m one of The Chosen. I was at my mom’s house and the neighbor invited us both to her house for dinner. They’ve only lived there since last fall and my mom was pretty busy the past few months with my dad, so she never really got to meet them other than the times they see each other outside and shout HI! and the time the brother and his friend shoveled all the snow off mom’s driveway which was very nice of them. So we sit down in the dining area and begin visiting with the neighbor and what do I see???? OMG. The Zombie Survival Guide. Right there on the shelf in front of my eyes. Yes! it’s EVERYWHERE NOW. So I know it’s a sign right away and I jump up and say, OH MY GOSH! and they all ducked because maybe they thought I was having a seizure or something and they looked pretty surprised and I shouted ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! YOU HAVE THE ZOMBIE SURVIVAL GUIDE!” and they nodded that they did, indeed, have The Zombie Survival Guide. AND – they let me borrow it! Can you believe that? Something that valuable, and they let me take it out of their home and all the way to Memphis and they didn’t even charge me a deposit.

So that’s my story of how I learned I was one of The Chosen and that it’s all EVERYWHERE. Also, I do have my own copy of the book, I do. But I kinda lost it, maybe.

Now I guess I’ll talk about being back in the saddle some other day because all this worrying and all my efforts to try to make you understand about the Zombies and Chunk and Murph and oranges and being Chosen and washing your bedding has completely worn me out and I’m going to go take a nap. On the couch. Which the Yahoo! News Zombies did not indicate is inhabited by unwanted creatures. Other than Murph and Chunk, of course, who, the minute I thought the word “nap” in a tiny corner of my mind immediately raced each other to the couch, leaving me half a cushion and part of a pillow.

I’m sitting here in Prescott, another abfab beautiful morning with the mourning doves cooing and the spoiled brat of a scrub jay turning his rotten nose up at my offering of the watermelon rind but happily eating all of mom’s peanuts the little sh*t. Not that I’m bitter. Stupid bird. (Interesting side note: watermelon left out in the Arizona sun with -12% humidity turns into a substance quite similar to dried gorilla glue.)

I haven’t run since Thursday – been a little busy this past week but more on that later when I’ve had time to ruminate – and I will head out soon for a jog. It will be interesting to see if I’ve managed to finally acclimate to the altitude. Hopefully so, I need to keep up my stamina and fitness because you never know when the zombies will show up and I for sure intend to be ahead of the rest of you all when we have to run from them. Probably I need to start incorporating a bit of speed work too. I bet the adrenaline will help once it kicks in, though. Hopefully the rest of you have been pretty stressed lately and your adrenal systems are shot. I mean that in the most helpful and positive way possible.

So anyway, the zombies, as you know: you never know when they may show up. This morning, however, I found a very helpful post on FB and I wanted to share it with both of you because I’m like that, generous, thoughtful, caring, selfless.

Apparently what you need to do is find a really cute innocent little kitty and offer it as a sacrifice to the zombies:

Yesterday rubber band legs, this morning I can’t walk and I think everything from the top of my hips to the top of my knees has solidified into cement – cement which can feel pain. Cement which I believe may have become sentient and seems to be making its own decisions, and I’m rather concerned. For instance I just went to get more coffee and the cement which used to be muscles, tissues and bones decided it didn’t care about coffee or not and will be damned if we are going to pick up our knees and set our foot on the next stair. So there we stood at an impasse, me gazing forlornly at the kitchen floor, only 6 steps above me, the kitchen with my most awesome Cuisinart Grind ‘n Brew, the Shrine of coffee heavenliness, the holder of all that is best about the world of 4:30am, the heady smell of caffeine wafting down toward me, out of reach…never again to know the goodness of that nirvana…*sob*

“MOVE YOU DAMN LEGS, I SAY: MOVE!” I entreat my legs. I exhort them to remember me, the one who has always fed them, massaged them (ok, fine, whenever I remember the foam roller. Once a month is good, seriously, guys, I’m trying here), the one who, in high school, resorted to wearing men’s button-fly Levis because nothing else came in a 32” inseam and you two looked like idiots in those high-water jeans I found at Sears. Consider all I’ve done for you, and you can’t get up the stairs for A FREEKING CUP OF COFFEE OH MY GAWD I NEED COFFEE.

This concerns me on a couple levels. For one thing I could eventually starve to death down here because all we have is a bedroom/office, a bathroom, and a den. None of these rooms contain anything edible unless I finally get so hungry that the vanilla lotion in the bathroom, in my hunger-crazed mind, begins to resemble a vanilla shake. In a plastic bottle with a squirt top. Hey, they could be putting vanilla shakes in bottles with squirt tops – you don’t know.

Secondly, and I don’t think either of you actually realize this, but I’ve long had a carefully hidden fear of zombie attack. This possibility is real and the world doesn’t pay any attention to it. Why do you think I run so much? So I can wear this t-shirt (below) which informs you “if zombies attack, I’m tripping you” and I can stay ahead of the rest of you zombie fodder. But now: I’m stuck downstairs, weakening moment by moment, nothing to eat, no coffee to keep me from dozing off and the next thing I know, I could be under Zombie attack and helpless to save myself with my useless damn legs on strike.

And still you scoff. There are no zombies you two say, snorting your coffee out your noses while you laugh at me (serves you right I hope your nose burns all day long and that is a horrid waste of good coffee, by the way). Now I offer you this helpful chart (below) so when the zombies DO attack – and they will – you might have a chance of survival unless I’m near you in which case I will certainly outrun you and leave you for zombie fodder. (DAMN LEGS, AGAIN I SAY: MOVE!!)

Yes. The GOVERNMENT is aware of the Zombies and you aren’t. Who are you going to trust? Yourself? Or the Government?

HA!

Got you now, huh?!

I immediately purchased the following items which I secured in a secure place in the house so I would be safe when the Zombies come even though neither of you believe me, nor do you actually care, so when the Zombies do figure out the answer to #6 (above) and the answer is yes and the answer is you it won’t be me and as long as I have the coffee pot, the book and the emergency kit I will be fine and you will be Zombie fodder.

Additionally I will have food to eat:

And Cat will have toys to play with:

While you two run down the street screaming for help which will never come:

Don’t say I didn’t tell you. If the TN Dept. of Transportation can figure out there are Zombies (and they can’t even figure out if there is an accident or road closing when a semi is upside down in the middle of the freeway) then you are in serious trouble and it is not my fault..